


Stars, Screw-Ups, and Coffee Cups

by buckydarling



Category: The Martian - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I am a sucker for happy endings, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but everything turns out okay, coffee shop AU, they're so stupid guys, veteran! chris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:26:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckydarling/pseuds/buckydarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coffee shop AU. In which there are Sharpie drawings, pining, misunderstandings, angst, and, ultimately, love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars, Screw-Ups, and Coffee Cups

**Author's Note:**

> In response to a tumblr fic prompt I got asking for a Beckwatney coffee shop AU! This was my first one, so I hope you like it! Hope I didn't screw anything up :/
> 
> I am un-beta'd as always, so forgive me for any glaring mistakes.

  
See, it’s not that Chris’s life is boring. 

Except that it is.

Here’s how the average day goes: wake up, curse the alarm clock, spend several hours pouring black brews for men in neckties and garishly colored blended cups of sugar-coffee-diabetes-shit for teenage girls with dangly wristlets and shiny iPhones, get off his shift, attempt to make lunch, go grocery shopping, occasionally attempt to clean his apartment. Repeat.

Yep, Chris’s life is pretty boring. The only bright spots are when he has a shift with Johanssen or Martinez, and even then, that only comes around every so often. And it’s not like Chris doesn’t have time for fun or leisurely activities. He just… doesn’t do that stuff. 

It’s not like he’s had any interest in it since his last tour, anyway.

He’s lucky to have the job, he tells himself. It’s astonishing to him how many places aren’t willing to hire veterans, and the manager of the coffee shop was very understanding.

So Chris methodically assembles another macchiato-chino-double-whip-triple-shot montrosity and figures that it’s just going to be another average day.

And then the most handsome man Chris has seen in probably a few years steps up to the register and says, “Large hot chocolate. Ooh, with cinnamon.”

Chris blinks. “Oh. Okay.” _Shit_. 

Handsome Guy laughs. “You sound surprised.”

Chris shrugs, and hopes he’s not blushing. “Yeah, well, during the morning rush, we don’t see many people over the age of ten ordering something that’s not caffeinated.” Handsome Guy laughs and Chris almost loses control of the Sharpie he’s holding, barely managing not to scribble all over this guy’s cup. “Can I get a name for your order?”

“Mark,” he says, and Chris is pretty sure he’s bright red now. Mark, he scribbles with a flourish, and out of nowhere he puts a little star on the end of the K. Punching in the order into the register, the drawer slides ope. Mark hands him a twenty. “Keep the change?” he says, and it doesn’t sound patronizing; it’s almost hopeful, like Mark’s afraid he’ll say no, and for once, being given a tip isn’t the slightest bit embarrassing for Chris.

“Thanks,” he says, managing a cheeky grin, and Mark moves down the counter to wait. Chris shakes his head. “Next!” he calls out.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Impossibly, the next day, Mark is back.

“Hello again,” Chris smiles, feeling brave. “Same as yesterday?” 

Mark looks delighted that Chris remembers him, and something warm pools in Chris’s stomach.  “Yeah! Awesome.” Chris scribbles his name down on the cup, adding another little star this time, and slides it down the counter towards Martinez, pointedly avoiding his gaze. Mark hands him a credit card this time, but drops a rolled-up five in the tip jar as he slides down the counter to wait.

Chris is about to call out for the next customer in line when he hears Martinez slip up behind him. “Y’know, Chris, I’m not the best at hot chocolate. Why don’t you take these next orders and I’ll work the register?” Chris doesn’t even have to turn around to hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I hate you,” Chris mutters, sliding down to grab the paper cup, but everything vanishes when Mark looks up and sees him, and smiles.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It becomes a regular thing; Mark walks in during Chris’s morning shift and orders his hot chocolate, and there are beaming smiles (courtesy of Mark) and lots of blushing (that would be Chris) and every day Mark’s cup leaves the shop with little stars drawn in Sharpie all over it.

It’s on an early morning in February when Chris decides to be brave. Hiding behind one of the hulking shiny machines on the coffee counter, he scribbles his phone number on the cup, surrounded by twinkling star shapes. He adds extra whipped cream and cinnamon, pops a lid on the top, and strolls over to the counter where Mark is waiting, his arms laden with a pile of books he must need for a class. Mark beams, adjusting his grip to reach for the drink, and then his books fall to the floor with a loud _BANG!_

Chris jerks, the hot chocolate flying onto the floor and he’s flat on the ground, back in the military, breathing hard. _Not guns, Chris_ , he’s telling himself, _not guns, just books, you’re fine, you’re at work, getupgetupgetup_. His breathing slows, and he forces himself to stand, fists clenched. _Fuck PTSD._

Mark’s expression is one of terror and concern. “Are you okay- what happened- Chris?”

Chris forces a smile. “It’s nothing bad. Military stuff. Tours don’t leave you fully unscathed, you know.”

Mark’s expression devolves into horror and something Chris can only describe as utter self-loathing. Mark looks at the books in his hands. “That was _my fault_?” 

Chris shakes his head, holding out his hands. “No, it’s fine, really, I’m okay.” His arms are covered in spilled hot chocolate. Martinez is distracting the other customers, bless him.

Mark backs away. “My fault- oh god - I’m so sorry -” He looks to the door. “I should go, I’ll just mess it up, I’ll-”

Something breaks a little inside Chris. “Mark, no-”

“I should go.” Mark practically beelines for the door and doesn’t look back.

Chris goes to change out of his soaked apron and wills the tears not to fall. _It’s fine. You’re fine._

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Mark doesn’t show up at the coffee shop for the next two weeks. Chris’s life is now worse than boring.

He tries to convince himself it wasn’t his fault. He just keeps seeing the look of horror on Mark’s face. The demons creep in, slowly.

_There was no guarantee that he was attracted to you, anyway. Why would he want you? You’re boring. You’re a vet with PTSD and a stupid job and you can’t even draw a proper star -_

“Chris?”

Johanssen’s voice cuts into his thoughts, and he looks down to realize he’s crumpled the cup in his hand. The line of customers at the register is staring at him, and he feels his face flush. Johanssen takes his arm, gently. 

“Chris, take the rest of your shift off. Martinez and I will cover you.”

“Jo, I’m okay, really-”

“Chris.” She looks at him pointedly. “Go home.”

He escapes into the cool winter air, already feeling the tears rush down his face. He squeezes his eyes almost shut, barely looking where he’s going, on autopilot to his apartment, when he crashes into someone.

“Whoa, sorry, I’l just - be on my way-”

“Chris?” _Shit._

He looks up, and there’s Mark, wearing a soft gray hat and a confused expression.

“Chris, what’re you doing out - are you crying? Is something wrong?”

Something squeezes tight, snaps in Chris’s chest, and he jerks his head. “No. ‘M fine.”

Mark takes his arm, firmly but not forcefully, and it’s like it burns. “No, you don’t look okay. Something’s wrong.”

The voices are back in Chris’s head. _Why’s he even being this nice to you? You don’t deserve it. It’s just pity, that’s all, pity for a poor army vet-_

 _“_ Can I do something to help?” Mark asks, and that’s when Chris breaks, wrenching his arm away.

“No! You can’t! Because you’re the reason everything’s gone to shit!” he shouts, and Mark’s face drops.

“What do you mean?” he says, barely a whisper, and he sounds so broken.

Chris wipes a hand across his face, the tears refusing to stop. “You show up at this coffee shop every morning during my shift and you’re the best fucking part of my day, and the moment I dare to think you might actually like me, you stop showing up!” 

Mark’s eyes widen, and now he’s crying, and shit, Chris just ruins everything, doesn’t he? Mark opens his mouth to speak, but Chris keeps going. 

“But I was wrong, right? Nobody wants me anyway, I’m just this fucking useless veteran with shitty PTSD and a shitty job and a boring life, and apparently I can’t have anything nice because the moment I let myself open up to people, they run off scared!” He’s almost sobbing now.

Mark is gaping. “Chris - God, no, Chris - I thought you didn’t want me there!”

Chris’s head snaps up. “What?”

Mark is flailing with his hands. “I dropped those stupid books and you freaked out, and I was sure I’d ruined everything and you didn’t want me around, so I just…” he scratched the back of his neck, “stopped coming? And I felt like shit, but I didn’t know, and, God,” and now Mark is crying again, “I missed you and your smile and the little stars you drew on my cups, and I was too scared to go back, and God, would you please say something?!” Chris can’t do anything but stare.

Mark mumbles, “I mean, I’m pretty sure you hate me, but I mean -”

“My god, would you _shut up_ -” Chris chokes out, surging forward, pulling Mark in by the lapels of his coat and kissing him hard.

Mark doesn’t even hesitate in kissing him back, wrapping his arms around Chris’s waist and pulling him closer, and they’re both crying but Mark’s mouth is soft and warm and reassuring, and Chris lets out a little sigh, running his hands up Mark’s chest and winding them around the back of his neck.

It felt like an eternity before they broke apart for air, Mark’s lashes fluttering, leaving little tear tracks on the apples of Chris’s cheeks. Chris kept their foreheads pressed together, huffing out a laugh. “So.”

Mark giggled. “So, we’re both kind of idiots.”

Before Chris knows it they’re both laughing, Chris’s knees almost giving way, and he leans on Mark for support, burying his face in Mark’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe it.” He looks up, where Mark is gazing down at him. “You know something, pal? That day at the coffee shop, I was gonna give you my number. It was written on your drink.”

Mark laughs, delighted. “Really?” He shakes his head. “Geez. I really am an idiot.”  He shrugs, then straightens up and takes Chris’s hand. “I think I owe you, like, twenty five coffees, by the way.”

Chris grins. “I’m more of a tea kinda guy, but I got no plans for today.” He looks over at Mark. “Got somewhere you need to be?”

Mark looks at him, then, and smiles, and it warms Chris all the way to his toes. “Not anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> There we are!! Comment if you liked it/you want to see more of this pairing!
> 
> As always and probably forever, find me on [tumblr](http://darlingbvckyy.tumblr.com)


End file.
